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Vachel Lindsay

Springfield, Illinois
Friday, January 3, 2003

The Moon's The North Wind's Cooky

Rating: 2.8
The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.

The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that . . . greedy
North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again!
Vachel Lindsay
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